


The Chance of You

by Windeh



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: M/M, just for fun since I love these guys, random guest appearances by the family but it's mostly 8059
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:31:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windeh/pseuds/Windeh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because no matter what universe it is, they always seem to cross paths and drive each other crazy. A collection of 8059.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little late to the fandom, I know. I still like to write about these mafia idiots though so I'll add little things now and then. 
> 
> Post finale, within canon-verse. Just a random day in the life...

Gokudera frowned as he reached high, like he should have pulled over the bar stool after all high, and grabbed the box of crackers off of the shelf. He came down slowly, shrugging his shoulders a bit. All good. He shook the box in frustration before chucking it at Yamamoto’s head.

"Whoa! Fly ball!" 

He caught it without a care. 

"You’re welcome, baseball idiot."

Yamamoto started picking at the label as Gokudera walked around the sofa to take his seat.

"Oh wait, can you get me a soda? Please?"

Gokudera turned to meet his gaze very slowly.

"Please? These are salty."

The sofa made a slow whiny sound as Gokudera scrunched the fabric under his nails. He debated flipping the happy idiot off, leaving altogether, or detonating the block of C4 he conveniently placed under the furniture the other day. 

'No, no, Headquarters was just remodeled, Juudaime wouldn't like that.'

So he turned and stomped back into the kitchen, yanking the refrigerator door open and crouching down to retrieve the damn soda. Except they’re not at the bottom like usual. He darted his gaze, they were on the top behind the spreads. 

"A lemon one please? I think we just got a restock."

The pack of yellow cans stuck out against all the dark colas and energy drinks. He pushed those aside and rocked forward on the balls of his feet, picking the first one he could. He tapped the door closed with his foot and violently manhandled the soda.

Gokudera walked up behind Yamamoto quietly and pressed the drink against the back of his neck, eliciting the yelp he was hoping for.

"Careful, it’s a bit cold."

Yamamoto took it with a shaky smile. “Ah, you’re the best!” he said, placing the soda on the floor so it could settle.

Gokudera grumbled under his breath, quickly sitting down before his boyfriend could ask anything else of him. That was the fifth time Yamamoto had sent him for a favor. They weren’t big requests, it was just starting to scratch him the wrong way. Yamamoto wasn’t hurt, they haven’t had any missions lately to cause an injury, and baseball season was over at school. So why was he sending him around for every little thing?

"Actually can you—"

Gokudera fell into Yamamoto’s side, elbow conveniently stuck out to catch the other’s ribs. If that didn’t come across as a ‘fuck no’, then Yamamoto didn’t know him very well. Luckily Yamamoto did know Gokudera very well, so the rest of that sentence died on his lips. Just because they agreed to try dating didn’t mean he was going to lose any of his bite. 

They watched the rest of the show in silence. Yamamoto didn’t even try to dislodge Gokudera’s elbow; in fact he only moved once to take a sip of his drink. When the show ended though, they both sat up to stretch. Gokudera was ready to turn in. Maybe he’d swing by the main office to check in with Juudaime first, but he was beat.

"Neh, Gokudera,"

Said bomber whipped his head around, daring the other to ask for one more thing.

"Uh," Yamamoto paused, straightening up. "Do you mind putting these away? I don’t know where you got them," he motioned to the box of crackers. "I’ll clean up here, ok?"

Gokudera was ready to combust, but swallowed every insult he had when Yamamoto softly brushed his fingers against his hand. He looped them through Gokudera’s numerous bracelets and put on his sweetest smile. Damned if Gokudera knew why it always turned his stomach upside-down. His frown lessened to a pout.

"Pick up every fucking crumb," he said. "You eat like a dog."

Yamamoto hummed. “All right.”

Gokudera accepted the box and made his way back into the kitchen. He tapped it against the counter as he looked up. He’d definitely need a boost to get this one home.

'Who the hell does our restock? I'm going to murder them.' 

Gokudera lugged a bar stool over and ambled onto it carefully, steadying himself against the lower shelves as he slotted the crackers back where they belonged. 

CLICK

Gokudera glanced at the sound, just barely catching the sight of Yamamoto stashing his phone away.

Wait. Wait one damn minute.

He nearly jumped off the stool and ran up to Yamamoto before he could skitter away. It took two kicks and one pinch to his side before Gokudera could weasel the phone out of the swordsman’s grasp. He flipped through the saved photos amidst Yamamoto’s protests. Most of the album contained pictures of them together, but the most recent were all of Gokudera, all of his back actually, of him reaching for plates, napkins, crackers…

He wheeled around, murder blazing in his eyes.

"That’s why you asked me to get all those things? So you can take pictures of me?!"

"W-Well," Yamamoto struggled between keeping Gokudera from running off and staying out of striking distance. "I knew you’d get mad if I tried to get them for you, and I really did need them!"

"You take pictures of me all the damn time, do you get a kick out of me doing nice things for you?!"

"No! I mean, I do like it. But that’s not—"

Gokudera shoved his hand over Yamamoto’s mouth.

"You…knew where all those things were?" he asked, flipping through the pictures again. Every shot of him stretching was also a shot of his shirt riding up, exposing varying amount of skin each time.

If he could have, he’d have broken the phone in his grasp.

"Fucking baseball idiot! I knew you’d do something like this if we went out, I knew it!" Gokudera trailed off into Italian after that, each sentence punctuated with a pointed punch or knee jab. Yamamoto was conscious to protect his vital spots, but did end up taking a few hits as he gathered Gokudera in his arms. He figured the bomber would find out eventually, but hopefully he’d let him keep the pictures.

"Oh my God, you were already here when I arrived did you move everything to the top shelf?!"

Yeah, probably wouldn’t be able to keep those pictures.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After watching my hometown team play in the World Series this had to happen. 
> 
> Set in a random post-finale timeline, in the Vongola's Headquarters.

Gokudera walks through the empty hall, mindful of scattered clothes and bloodied weapons. He tells himself to remind Hibari to clean up after himself the next time he comes by (although it's so early he doubts he'll remember). He can see a faint glow in the next room and grumbles loudly.

"Do'u know what time is?" 

Yamamoto turns, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. 

"Time it is," he repeats with more clarity. 

"Gokudera! I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"What the hell do you think..." he says calmly, although his viscous glare gives him away.

"Well, you didn't wake up the past days so," he sighs, a soft smile on his face. "Sorry,"

Gokudera takes a seat next to him, rubbing his hands across his face. Yamamoto sets the laptop on the coffee table, giving the bomber his full attention. Not that it meant very much since the stream he was watching was on a commercial break.

The World Series was on in the States and Yamamoto was determined to watch every second of it. Never mind that it featured teams he didn't know, that it was broadcast in a language he barely understood, that it meant sneaking out of bed at 4-fucking-o'clock in the ante meridiem to watch. Yamamoto didn't care. Baseball was in his blood.

There's a pen and notebook between them, with little squares and scribbles all over it. OBS. RISP. IP. Baseball speak. Even if he was fully awake Gokudera was sure he wouldn't understand any of it. Yamamoto rests his hand on his boyfriend's shoulder, sliding it up and down his back. He's saying something, only catching the tail-end of it.

"...will turn the sound off, I didn't think you could hear it from the bedroom," his voice is soft, warm. "...back to sleep? I'll be there soon,"

Gokudera shakes his head, unconsciously leaning into the other's body. 

"Wha' inning z'it?"

"Hm?"

"Inning...how much longer?" 

"Oh! Bottom of the eighth, they're tied,"

Tied. Which means if one of the teams doesn't score soon, it'll go into overtime. Wait, that's not what it's called. Extra innings.

"C'mon, I'm carrying you back to bed,"

"No," he says, pushing Yamamoto's hands away. "I'll stay,"

Gokudera would never admit it, but this has been the longest conversation he's had with Yamamoto in days. Their famiglia was still young, which meant Tsuna had to stretch their power to cover all the bases. They couldn't appear weak, couldn't accept help from allies too often. And all of Tsuna's guardians, his friends, were aware of that. His Rain and Storm were strong, so they often led separate missions, departing early after morning meetings and barely reuniting until midnight. It was tough, but they've managed. 

"You sure?"

Gokudera frowns, reaching forward to turn the sound up so that his idiot boyfriend could actually hear what was going on.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

Yamamoto smiles, cradling Gokudera in his arms with a bright laugh. He lets him wiggle around, getting comfortable before turning his attention back to the broadcast. The bomber tries to watch, but he can only comprehend colors at this point. Orange team vs. Purple team. Vaguely, he wonders which one Yamamoto is cheering for.

When Gokudera's breaths begin to even out, Yamamoto pulls a blanket over him. He alternates between keeping his hand securely on the other's hip and interlocking their fingers, rubbing his thumb over calloused pads. Gokudera doesn't hear the noises of the game, just the swordsman's slightly rapid heartbeat. It lulls him to sleep, warm and content.

\---

Gokudera wakes to the tea kettle's whine. It takes him a moment to regain his senses. To remember why he's on the couch covered by the tattered blanket they bring on missions. There's a light clatter of dishes, the sound of feet padding around, and a low sing-song hum. Gokudera blinks a few times, a small smile gracing his lips. 

"Good morning,"

He pulls the blanket over his head.

Yamamoto sets a cup of tea on the coffee table, kneeling, running his hand through silver hair. He gently tugs the fabric away, catching a sleepy gaze.

"Awake?"

Gokudera shakes his head, but doesn't try to move. Yamamoto laughs.

"Are you hungry? There were scones and stuff in the kitchen. I brought some up for you,"

"Who won?"

Yamamoto tilts his head. 

"You were paying attention?"

"...sorta,"

"Team Orange,"

Gokudera squints, of course Yamamoto would know.

_Stupid baseball idiot maybe I said it in my sleep how else could he--_

Yamamoto presses his lips against his, quick and appreciative little kisses that never fail to put color on his cheeks. Gokudera whines a bit, struggling through the blanket until one of his hands grabs onto his boyfriend's shirt, pulling him close. Yamamoto rests his forehead against Gokudera's.

"Sleep ok?"

"No. I dreamed a big useless dog jumped me. It was terrible,"

"Hm, doesn't sound too bad,"

Gokudera huffs, rolling back against the couch cushions, stretching his limbs. Yamamoto stands so that he could sit next to him, draping his body across the bomber's midsection. He rearranges the blanket to cover him better, tucking the ends to keep the heat in.

"How many more games are there?"

"Just one. The series is 3-a-piece, so they have to play one more,"

Gokudera mutters something to himself, something about dates and missions and the proper amount of sleep to function. Yamamoto's smile gives a little, worry seeping into his eyes.

"Don't worry, I'll be more quiet--"

"Wake me up this time,"

Yamamoto blinks.

"Wake me up; I'll watch it with you,"

His swordsman doesn't say a word, just nods and leans forward, brushing his lips on flushed cheeks. Gokudera brings his arms around his neck, keeping him close. He's beyond tired, his neck hurts like hell, he knows they'll be late for their morning meeting (hopefully Tsuna will forgive it this one time), but Gokudera's sure he hasn't been this happy in a long while. 

Yamamoto nuzzles his boyfriend's chin, and Gokudera laughs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For 8059 week on tumblr! Absolutely nothing to do with Yamamoto's birthday or cake, but I wanted to write something.
> 
> Post finale, within canon-verse.

Yamamoto shrugs a bit, trying to settle. He kicks his legs up onto the nearby table and crosses his arms over his stomach. For the ninth time, he casually reaches for Shigure Kintoki, checking that it's still propped against the armrest. He likes their new headquarters, but it still feels odd lowering his guard. Must be the random personnel who constantly look in on him and the others. It's not all bad though. He likes having his friends nearby, and it was hard to say no to a personalized dojo within walking distance. 

Yamamoto scoots up a little, pushing against the couch until his neck is comfortably resting on the top cushion. He could definitely get used to napping on these plush couches. Reborn has very good taste. He sighs long and low, any remaining stress completely fading away. Couches with high backrests. Definitely the best part of the new HQ.

Jirou jumps next to him. Yamamoto closes his eyes, fingers massaging into warm, short tufts. It was also nice having his box animals out without having to worry that someone will notice the blue flames and cause a panic. Jirou sniffs his jeans, turns a few times and then rests against his master's thigh, nuzzling with the occasional lick. Yamamoto smiles, dozing.

Jirou whines. Before Yamamoto can react, a warm body settles next to him. He recognizes who it is in an instant, the faint trace of cigarettes and cold metal of numerous trinkets filling in the brief confusion. He brings his other arm around his partner's shoulder, drawing him close. The lines of their bodies meld. Yamamoto struggles to suppress a laugh at how much fuss the other is making, shifting limbs and pushing to get comfortable. He fingers silver whisps, twirls them as the breaths against his nape finally even out. He tips his head just slightly, whispering into those locks.

"We've been dating for five months. If you want to snuggle just say so,"

"Not snuggling. Just cold," Gokudera responds.

Yamamoto hums, his hand slowly running down Gokudera's side and onto his hip. "Really cold? Do you need my jacket?"

"Oh my God, no, it's not that bad," he musters. "J-Just go back to sleep. Do you want me to leave?"

"Stay," he says softly, smiling into his boyfriend's hair, musing strands with his lips. "S'nice,"

Gokudera huffs, drawing his legs up, knees bumping into Yamamoto's. His cheek is flush against the swordsman's collar, his plaid shirt conveniently pulled back enough to provide skin to skin contact. It's too warm. 

One, two, three minutes pass and Yamamoto lapses into sleep. The hand cupping Gokudera's waist sears, sending shivers up his spine. He closes his eyes. One of his hands traces patterns against Yamamoto's shirt. His fingers play with the frayed hem, skirting over exposed skin every now and then. He's so warm.

Lambo bolts down the hallway just outside. Sasagawa tails him with a yell. Tsuna follows shortly, shushing them and there's something about no weapons in the common rooms of headquarters. 

Gokudera raises his head a bit, bumping Yamamoto's chin. The grip on his waist tightens. He sighs, lips pressing into a steady heartbeat. The last thing he hears is his boyfriend's sword slipping off the armrest and onto the couch cushion with a muted thud.

Jirou's ears twitch; he yawns and rolls over.


End file.
